What Do You Call A Drunk Jew?
by PartiPooper
Summary: When Kyle gets boozed up at a bar by some asshole intent on taking advantage of him, the friend all would think of as the least likely to help him ends up doing just that. (Fluffy Kyman One-Shot; Rated T for profanities and use of alcohol.)


There wasn't anything that made him stand out above all else amongst his peers, and so, naturally, Kyle had never expected to be _fought_ over in his life – not when there were so many better fish in the sea. And yet, being fought over was exactly where the ordinary twenty-one-year-old found himself one ordinary night.

It all started at the bar. Kyle was trying to get the bartender's attention, without much luck. But then another guy pushed himself into the space in front of Kyle, smooth as anything, and with a grin that Kyle couldn't make out, asked him what he would like to drink. In hindsight, perhaps Kyle should have told the guy to mind his own business; but in his frustrated, desperate, parched state he told him how much he was thirsting for a vodka and passion fruit. And then, cool as you like, the guy snapped his fingers, the bartender was called, and before he knew it Kyle had a drink in front of him, finally.

He tried to pay the guy for his drink, but was politely declined, and was therefore obliged to talk to him then, as way of thanks for getting him a free drink. He found out that the guy's name was James, and the subject he was studying, and from there they burst into conversation, and Kyle found that James' company wasn't so bad. In fact, he was such a favourable guy that upon being offered another drink upon finishing his first, Kyle only showed the tiniest bit of hesitance before giving in. For the lasting of another drink they continued to talk; and then another, and then another, and then another; talking and drinking and drinking and talking until Kyle's head began to get warm and fuzzy.

That was when things began to get messy.

After Kyle had had more drinks than he could count on one hand, that was when he discovered how James' lips felt. The rough, chapped things were pressed to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, trailing down to his collar, and Kyle – poor disorientated lightweight that he was – began to feel that although James was _quite_ attractive, things were going a _little bit_ fast for his liking. He told him as such as he pushed him away, and James laughed good-heartedly and apologised sincerely and offered another drink, which Kyle hadn't refused.

It all seemed to be going well again, until a couple of drinks later when the lips were at his skin again. That time though, Kyle was too unsure about what was going on to push them away. All he could do was make slurred protests, and whine in a discomforted way, although neither of those helped him at all. And then James started talking about going back to his place, and Kyle was a _teensy_ bit scared about _that_, but still hadn't gained control of his noodle-limbs enough to push James away again when he hauled him up from his stool at the bar. Kyle hadn't the balance to stand on his own without collapsing at that point, and so was stuck with no choice but to follow James out of the bar and into the street, where everything was suddenly quite cold, especially when his fleece jacket had been left on his stool at the bar.

Kyle began to worry about his friends. He had gone there with them, and they would all be worried about where he had gone if he left suddenly without giving them notice. He tried to tell James as such, but his words were so half-formed that he wasn't understood, and James just replied with some petty reassurances that he was taking him to someplace nice and he would like it. The matter wasn't where he was going though – the matter was that his friends had no idea he was even going someplace at all, never mind someplace nice. He knew he had to tell them at least, and so, with all his drunken might, he fought himself out of James' grasp. He was let go, but before he could turn and start walking back into the bar he found himself falling backwards, and landing quite painfully hard on his ass. He would have felt embarrassed, except the warm fuzziness in his head was stopping him from being mortified by the muttering that started up all around him and the eyes that watched him warily.

James was at his side again immediately, saying nice, inviting words and trying to wrap him up in his arms again, but Kyle was adamant on not going anywhere unless his friends knew. He couldn't even remember _why_ he was going in the first place, or where, or with whom. Deep down, beneath the warmth and the fuzz, he was lost and confused, and he wanted a little security and certainty: the three constants in his life. That want made him able to swat James away again and slur, "Gerroff me. I need tuh see my fwends. They gun' wan' know."

"No, it's okay. I'll take care of you. Come on, I know someplace nice. I'll take you there."

Kyle was beginning to get severely annoyed, at the way James was so obsessed with going someplace nice when he had important things to do first. Again he swatted him, to show him physically how annoyed he was, and spoke louder and more irately, "I dun' wan' go with yooou! I dun' care 'bout nice places or…" He paused to hiccup. "_Wha'eva! _I need tuh see m' fwends…Staaa, 'n' Ken-ny, 'n' Car'man. Th-they's gun' miss me." Alas, James continued not to listen.

"There, there, it's alright." he said. "I'll look after you."

By that point Kyle was truly irritated enough about not being listened to by James to not care about going someplace nice with him anymore – no matter how nice someplace nice truly was – and he intended to tell him as much. However, before he could, he suddenly found himself flying – soaring up to stand on his feet – and out of seemingly nowhere there was an arm around him – warmer than James', and stronger, and altogether much _safer_, so much so that Kyle didn't struggle against it at all. And then there was a voice beside him – familiar, and _growling_.

"Hey, asswipe, why don't you back off? He doesn't want to go with you."

Kyle looked up, and though his vision was slightly off-kilter and blurry he could see the brown hair and eyes of his friend Cartman. For once, he felt glad to see him.

"Hey! How do you know?!" James snarled, squaring his shoulders and sizing Cartman up even though anybody could see that Cartman was obviously a good few inches taller. "I've been working on that twink all night! Come on, man, don't cockblock a bro!"

"This _twink_," Cartman spat the word, "just so happens to be my _friend_." His voice was a deep, displeased growl that Kyle was all too thankful he wasn't on the receiving end of. Rather, he felt warmer and warmer, in his chest and in his cheeks, knowing that the voice was for his sake. "So back off, dickface!"

James took a step forwards, towards them, to which Cartman took a step back, pulling Kyle along with him and clutching him tighter, issuing a deep, almost predatory growl as he went, glaring at James in an if-looks-could-kill kind of way. "Come on, man," James pleaded. "I spent so much money on that piece of ass. You've just _gotta_ let me tap it!"

That was the wrong way to beg Eric Cartman. There was a unanimous gasp from the crowd, and a few surprised cries, as James jumped backwards with a yelp when Cartman pulled his flick knife out of nowhere and thrust the sharp, silvery blade of it towards him. "You touch him, I cut you." he warned. "Capisce?"

"Y-yeah." James took a step back, and then another, and then another, backing away with his hands raised in surrender, slowly, making no sudden movements, but surely, getting further and further away. "I got it, man. I ain't gonna touch him. I'm just gonna go, alright?" Even so, even with those cowering assurances, Cartman did not lower his knife, but kept it steady and trained on James' retreating form, not sliding the blade back into the handle and re-pocketing it until he was gone far away, a dejected, distant shadow that not even the street lamps lit.

It was then that Cartman looked down with concerned eyes to Kyle, confusing him with the caring way he brushed his red fringe out of his face. "Are you alright?" he asked in the gentlest voice Kyle had ever heard from him. "He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"Car'man!" Kyle cheered before hiccupping, and he threw his arms out wide before flinging them around the brunet's neck, giggling jovially as he did. "'M fine! Tha' guy wuz _real_ nice! He bought me _lotsa_, _lotsa_ drinks!" He burst out laughing, finding his own voice and Cartman's bemused expression far too funny, and nuzzled his face deeper into the soft warmth of Cartman's chest. "'M a lil' drunk, but 'm be fine, I c'n go _all_ night. I c'n _par-tay_!" He sang those last two syllables in a high-pitched voice, and descended into more giggling afterwards.

"Uh-huh. Is that so?" Cartman sounded amused, and when Kyle looked up at him, indeed he was smiling, his face coming alight with a warmth and softness that Kyle liked.

"Tha's nice," Kyle said, and Cartman blinked at him as the redhead prodded his finger into the brunet's lips. "When you look li'e tha', tha's vay nice. Keep doin' i'."

Cartman stared down at him unblinkingly for a while longer, but then, Kyle's finger still pressed into his upper lip, he chortled, in a way that sounded just as nice as his smile looked. "Man," he said, shaking his head and dislodging Kyle's finger, "you really _are_ drunk."

"No, _y're_ drunk," Kyle retorted, poking Cartman in the chest and hiccupping once more. "You need tuh take it easy, mister, cuz I ain't carryin' y'ur drunken butt home. Now, le's go me kick y'ur ass at kar-a-o-kay, huh?" Kyle pushed Cartman away, and tried to take a step back into the bar, but only ended up wobbling and falling to the floor again. Luckily, Cartman caught him before he could feel the pain of impacting with the sidewalk for another time that night, and he tittered as Cartman lifted him back upright, and slumped in his arms like a ragdoll. "Whoops! I took a tipsy tumble! Mah bad! But _dun'_ worry! It _won't_!" He prodded Cartman pointedly in the shoulder. "_Happen_!" Prod. "_Again_!" One final prod, and he tried to worm his way out of Cartman's arms once more, but that time Cartman didn't let him.

"Actually, I think we should get you home," he said, pulling Kyle away from the bar, practically dragging him in his inability to walk.

"Wha'?!" Kyle cried and pouted. "You worried 'm gun' take you down to China town, mister, huh? You 'fraid I gun' beat you? 'll h've you know, I know B'heminan Raphody _off by h'art_!" He prodded Cartman in the chest again with each one of those last three syllables, and hiccupped before continuing. "I ge' it, Car'man, I know _you_! _You_ dun' wan' ruin y'ur _rep_ by losin' tuh _me_! Well, _sorry_, skippy, buh I _am_ the _true_ kar-a-o-kay queen, and 'm gun' prove i'. Wash. Jus' take me ba' tuh the bar, and I'm show you a _wurld_ o' hurt!"

"I'm sure you would." Cartman seemed to be struggling to fight a growing grin. He patted Kyle reassuringly on the shoulder with one hand while the other at his waist led him along to his car parked in the street. "But what you need right now is to go home, Jew."

"Not a joo," Kyle said sulkily, crossing his arms petulantly.

"Yes you are." Cartman sighed with a shake of his head. "Christ, I knew you were a lightweight but I didn't know you were _this_ bad."

"M' not bad." Kyle sniffed, suddenly feeling very over-emotional, and very offended by what Cartman had said. "M' gud. M' mom sed so. Why dun' you think 'm gud? Why're you so mean tuh me?" He uncrossed his arms, to place his head in his hands and hide the tears springing forth in his eyes as he began to sob. "Why dun' you li'e me? 'M gud tuh you. Dun' call me _baaad_!" he wailed, earning strange, pitying looks from the people they passed.

Cartman sighed once more as he carried on with him to the car, where he unlocked it and opened the passenger-side door for Kyle to get in. "I didn't mean it like that. Listen, stay here, I'm gonna go tell Stan and Kenny that I'm taking you home." Kyle didn't want Cartman to go, not for any length of time, not ever, but he just sniffled sadly and nodded, compliantly staying sat in the car after Cartman closed the door on him and disappeared back into the crowded bar. Kyle felt devastatingly lonely and sad in the couple of minutes that Cartman was gone, so that when the brunet finally returned and settled himself in the driver's side Kyle was still crying in a way that had him sighing again.

"I got your jacket," he said, holding out the green material. Kyle took it with a sniff and clutched it to his chest, burying his face in it. In the meantime, Cartman buckled himself in for the drive. "Put your seatbelt on, Jew."

Kyle pulled the jacket away from his face to rest it in his lap, looking down at the wet patches that hadn't been there before, and hiccuped. "'M not bad."

Cartman turned the key in the ignition and started the engine purring. "No, you're not. But if you ride in my car without a seatbelt on then you will be. Put your seatbelt on." Still sniffling, Kyle reached behind himself for the seatbelt, fumbling clumsily, his uncoordinated hand hitting everything but the strap. "Christ," Cartman muttered as he leant over to Kyle's side and grabbed his belt for him, pulling it across him and clicking it into its buckle. "Remind me never to let you get this hammered again."

"'M no' hamburgered. Jus' a lil' tipsy." Kyle said with a pout, wiping his nose with his wrist.

"Whatever you say," Cartman laughed as he pulled away and drove off, far from the bar and up the road, headed back towards South Park.

A few minutes into the drive out of Denver, Kyle, because he had his seatbelt on and therefore was not bad, and because they were moving fast down the road, blurring past the distant lights shining like sequins on the black cloth that was the night, cheered up considerably.

"'S funny." His head, lolling against the headrest of his seat, turned from the window to Cartman, who was watching the road with a cool focus that Kyle actually liked the look of. It was strange, seeing Cartman doing something mature as driving but not boasting about it, but it was nice too.

"What is?" Cartman spared a quick glance at Kyle on a straight, empty stretch of road, and seemed surprised to be the centre of his attention.

"You." Kyle jammed a finger into the hollow of Cartman's cheek and twisted the way someone would do a key in a lock, and he giggled at the pained wince Cartman made at first, followed by the befuddled darting of his eyes from the road to Kyle and back again. "Look a' you, Mister Driver Man. In y'ur car. Y're funny."

"I could say the same to you." Cartman released a hand from the wheel, to pull Kyle's finger out of his cheek. His hand was big and warm, Kyle thought as his was captured in it. It was much, much warmer than that other guy's. Kyle liked it, so he held it in return, squeezing his fingers around it. Cartman looked away from the road again, to look down at their joint hands with an expression Kyle could never hope to understand in his drunken stupor. "What are you doing?"

"H'ldin' yer hand, gen'us."

"Why?"

"'S nice. I li'e y'ur hand."

If Kyle's bleary eyes didn't deceive him, Cartman's face flushed slightly. He tried to pull his hand from Kyle's. "Let go. I need to drive."

"You _are_ drivin'." Kyle grinned. "Vroom vroom."

Cartman made an exasperated sound, which had Kyle giggling, thus weakened him enough that his hold wasn't so strong, so that Cartman could finally pull his hand free with one good, hard tug and return it to the wheel. "You're so weird when you're drunk, Jew. You go all bi-polar. One minute you're crying, the next you're laughing. What's with that?"

"Waz wi' _you_, wa-ga-do?" Kyle sang, descending into a fit of giggles afterwards and causing Cartman to roll his eyes.

"Christ. I am _not_ envying the hangover you're going to have tomorrow morning, Jew."

Kyle snorted. "_Ye'right!_ Y're _totes_ jelly o' me."

Cartman sighed. "Sure thing, Jew. Whatever you say."

When they finally made it back to their neighbourhood and Cartman pulled up at the curb outside Kyle's house, Kyle somehow managed to unbuckle himself, and, after some considerable fumbling around, managed to find the handle of the door and open it. "Well th'nks fer the ride, Car'man, y're a real pal. I c'n take it from here." He made to step out of the car, but only ended up falling out of his seat, landing face-first on the tarmac road.

"Ah, shit," Cartman could be heard muttering, followed by the sound of his door opening then his footsteps hurrying around the car, trying to reach Kyle before he did anything else stupid.

"'M fine!" Kyle laughed into the tarmac, shaking with the effort of laughing, finding the whole thing, even his scratched face, completely hysterical. "'M fine! Jus' tripped! No biggie!"

Cartman clicked his tongue when he pulled Kyle up onto his feet and examined the damage. "You aren't fine. You fucked up your face, dumbass."

Kyle leant into Cartman, to look up at him from below the brunet's chin, and tried to whisper though it came out far too loud, "Still prettier than you." He giggled afterwards, fisting Cartman's hoodie and burying his face into his chest and trying to stifle the bubbles of laughter there, and Cartman only sighed, picked up Kyle's jacket, and began to drag him towards his house. Kyle wasn't a cooperative walker, but somehow they eventually made it to the front doorstep, where Cartman rang the doorbell, and was pleased that Ike was the one to answer. He wasn't too fond of seeing Kyle's mother, and he was sure Kyle's mother wouldn't be too fond of seeing him or the state of her son.

"Special delivery," Cartman deadpanned, holding a still-giggling Kyle against his chest. "Did you order a drunk Jew?"

Ike cocked his head at the pair on his porch. "The heck?"

"Ike!" Kyle yelled happily, unlatching from Cartman as soon as he noticed his brother standing in the doorway, so as to jump on him instead. Luckily, Ike was tall at seventeen, a couple of inches more than his big brother in fact, so managed to hold onto Kyle alright without bowing too much under the weight of him. "I missed you!" Kyle cried, nuzzling Ike affectionately.

"Urgh, you reek, bro! The hell have you been drinking?"

"Too much," Cartman replied, handing Kyle's jacket to Ike. "Some asshole boozed him up and tried to take advantage of him."

"Shit, seriously?" Ike looked worriedly down at his brother, still nuzzling him like a child.

Cartman nodded. "Yeah. I stopped the bastard before he could make off to some sleazy motel or alleyway with him, but he still got pretty hammered. Take care of him, alright?"

"Y-yeah, sure." Ike nodded, patting Kyle consolingly on the back. "Thanks for looking out for him."

"Whatever. I didn't do it for him." Cartman stepped back off the porch, nodding in farewell as he started to walk backwards down the path, to his car at the sidewalk. "See ya, Little Jew." He turned then, and Ike watched his retreating back until he reached his car, at which point he turned his attention to his big brother, who had actually dozed off on him, drooling on his shoulder. He was a little mystified, since Cartman had saved Kyle, but not for _his_ sake, apparently. Whose sake was it for then? Perhaps, Ike thought, it was for Cartman's own sake. The thought made him smile and look back up at Cartman, watching as he pulled off and away from the curb in his car, and he wondered just how much Cartman really cared about Kyle.

"Why yes, Willzyx, I _w'uld_ li'e tuh dance," Kyle muttered sleepily on Ike's shoulder, making the young Canadian sigh. Kyle couldn't dance when he was awake and sober, so why the hell did he think he could do it when half-alseep and drunk?

"Come on, bro," he said, pulling his bumbling big brother further into the house. "Let's get you to bed."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

**The answer to the title question is: Kyle. Or, alternatively: Really Fun To Write. Seriously, this is probably some of the most fun I've ever had writing a story. Coming up with all the intoxicated slurring and clumsy actions was just great. Heck, I don't think I can even really call this a Kyman fic. Rather, a drunk Kyle fic. Anyway, this is my headcanon for what a drunk Kyle is like: a giggly, clumsy, easily upset lightweight.  
>Also, say hello to Jealous, Possessive, Protective Cartman - The Holy Trinity of PartiPooper's Guilty Pleasures. And say hello to baby brother Ike being taller than big brother Kyle, 'cause that shit's funny to me. Kyle, you so short, boy. And I love it. So hard.<br>I'm not so sure about how this began or ended, so I'm sorry about those parts, but I definitely like the middle and pray that you do too. I also pray that you ignore my lack of knowledge about alcohol and stuff, as I am a teetotaler. I have never drank or been drunk before, so forgive any inaccuracies about anything, please.  
>Oh, and one more thing! Kyle felt like he should talk to James after being bought a drink, but he shouldn't have. Never feel obliged to do something for someone else if they get you something or do something for you. You never owe anybody anything. If somebody does something just to get something in return, then they're not a very nice person in the first place.<br>Thank you for reading this, and I hope you had as much fun doing so as I did writing it.**

**Disclaimer: South Park does not belong to me, but to its creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone.**


End file.
